Upon the Midnight Clear
by Mara93
Summary: Christmas is almost past and Camelot is snowed in.  Guinevere, a special Christmas secret intact, longs for her husband.  Minor spoilers for season three and before. A bit mildly mature


**Note **{Warning}: This is a bit adult themed. Rating about R

**Disclaimer: **Merlin belongs to BBC/Shine.

**Spoilers:** All seasons, but no specific episodes

Written for **Javabreeze** for Talking Dragon's Secret Dragon

_**Upon the Midnight Clear**_

By a tainted glass window she stands, tainted with iridescent colors and white sickening snow. It _should_ be beautiful and yet it haunts her as it means no return this evening. A bell rings in the distance. It tolls the coming of the eleven o'clock hour. She wishes time would hasten, even if that means Christmas must depart. She wishes for some kind of gentle passionate peace.

She wishes simply that he was home.

Inside with her.

_Loving. _

_Writhing. _

_Entangled. _

_Moaning. _

_Touching._

Oh.

_Tasting. _

Footsteps come up behind. She knows immediately they are not his and gathers back her sense. To think so erotically she could embarrass herself. He is not here. Only the friend.

"Merlin, haven't you gone to sleep yet?"

She doesn't need to turn. She simply knows.

"It's just that I'm-

"Don't worry about me Merlin. I'm fine."

"_Are _you?"

She is forced to see as the servant, friend, and sorcerer comes up to touch her shoulder. She leans back against his hand. They have been friends for so many years. Her husband trusts the counsel of no man more. Funny since this man was the one who in the beginning kept the most secrets from him.

"Maybe, maybe he'll make it through."

She laughs softly. Merlin is well meaning, but also too naively optimistic. She looks out the window, ignoring his hopes. "The snow is so heavy out there. I wouldn't want him to even try. His safety is what matters. His and the knights. Now go to bed Merlin."

She turns to touch the thin man's face. It is so white, so gentle with the oddest little smiles. His hair is growing longer now, as his just beginning aging has still not taken away his youthfulness. She supposes one day it will, but that is far off. They are all young, even her king, her husband.

It is almost a year of marriage for her. Ten months of being queen. It should be hard and yet somehow it was so eased, her transition. Her husband calls her queen of hearts. She can allow that as long as she is queen of the people. Queen of her beloved land.

"Don't worry so about me. I'm fine." She repeats.

The friend touches a bit lower, discreetly. "All fine Gwen?"

She smiles quietly. "Yes. _All fine_. Every bit. Now go on. Go to bed. I never expected him to be back this soon anyway. I knew fully, we would not see each other again until the New Year. Go on Merlin."

He gently kisses her cheek. She holds at his hand before letting go. He is so dear, but she is not of want to be with someone. Not him at this moment that is.

She hears the soft sway of his robes as he departs. Arthur teases him often about their ridiculousness. Merlin insists they make him look grander. She sometimes laughs along with her husband. Grander if it means wider maybe.

She wraps her arms around the soft blue gown of evening she wears. Her husband picked it out for her last birthday. He said it would make her dark locks even more rapturous. She supposes so, though she doesn't often give in much to platitudes.

She turns back for a moment to the bed, the one they share at the heart of the castle's highest floor. It has golden brocades mixed in with his beloved red that she too now embraces. It is rich and divine. Beneath its dark covers are sheets of silk and satin, ones he's wrapped her up in. Ones she's felt every muscle of his exterior in. Ones they have caressed and languished in.

She turns back to the window. The bed is now like a knot of prickling thorns. She just wants the heat of his tender strong arms. She wants to tell him what lingers in her heart, her soul.

What she has said to Merlin though she holds with. The storm of snow outside is much too fierce for him to even try to return. All of them have been locked into Camelot's gates the past few nights because it is too treacherous to even momentarily travel. The white of snow has climbed so high that it clings to the castle's walls. She knows he cannot come back now. She is fine with that.

Completely fine.

_So_ fine.

So wonderfully fine the strands of his hair, so gold, so colored of sand and sun. So many times her fingers have wandered through and mussed the order that he says is intended to be messed with. Locked into golden locks as mouths kiss and shudder. As tongues tangle into webs of silky desire. As clothes fall way to the floor. As skin touches skin. As-

"_Merry Christmas Little Sister."_

She hears the voice and shudders. It cannot be. She turns and there is-

"Elyan!"

He runs to hold her. She holds back, sees beyond the carefree noble Gwaine, the big bear of a soft hearted Perceval and-

And—

"He stayed with Lancelot and Leon. He sent us early. Days ago before the storm amounted to much. He sends all his love. It's just that with what's going on concerning the kingdom of-

She presses her hand up against her brother's face. "I know. You need not tell me." She cannot disguise though the disappointment. If only he too could have come. "I understand. He has too much work to do there. I am glad you are back. You too Perceval and Gwaine of course. I am so happy all of you are back safely in Camelot." She hugs them all to her, denying the tears that want to fall. She misses him so. To appease she clings to her brother's back, but it is not enough.

Not sufficient.

Soon Elyan is departing. He has a woman he has been seeing, who he loves in the town square. Perceval is married and must return to his family. Gwaine—well Gwaine has another girlfriend of the month.

She loves them all dearly. She sees them off as it is minutes from tolling, the midnight bell. The last bell of Christmas day. Soon it will be past. She is fine with it. She never expected him anyway.

A tear falls down her cheek. She pushes it past with impatience. She should not be crying. She knew he wasn't going to make it. She knew she would not feel the heat of his moist lips. She knew his hands would not clasp tightly at her back. She knew his passionate eyes would not look into hers. She knew her bed, _their_ bed would be empty all night, for she cannot bring herself to lie in it. For three months now he's been away. Three long lonely months. She knew when she married him that it would be like this, hard and cold, but still it feels so much more intensified at this time, this moment of what should be intimate celebration. Not longing, not aching without his-

She turns back to the window. She will not lie until her legs give way. She will watch and hear as the final bell tolls. All the way to the midnight clear. She will suffer.

The night of their marriage he carried her into this very bedroom, with such regard, with such heaviness of wanting eyes. He pressed into her _so_ intimately as they undressed each other. He whispered his weakness for her as she shuddered he was her strength. Their love came together in private cries of ecstasy and-

"_Miss me that much do you?" _

No.

It is her mind playing tricks on her. He is _not_ here. Elyan already told her.

"Guess your brother is a good enough liar."

She presses her back against the window. It can't be. But he. He is-

"Did you honestly think I would miss our first Christmas together?

_Guinevere?_"

He is the only one who calls her that without the regal bearing of Queen. He is the only man who-

"I assure you I'm not a ghost."

She shudders weakly. "You're not?"

He smiles that smile she loves so. "I'm not. But I am dead tired and awfully cold. Care to give me a bit of warmth, my Queen?"

She laughs hysterically before rushing forward, nearly toppling over a low backed chair.

"Ah careful there!" He warns with his own bit of laughter, catching protectively at her waist. She can hear _it_ so richly.

It rings. It tolls. Christmas is over. He came right before it could-

End.

She shoves into his arms. She falls into his hands. He smiles tenderly and soon enough it is the solid heat of his kiss. He is dirtied and grimed. She cares not. She wants only—

"Oh Arthur- She breathes into the kiss. Breathless and full of life. "Oh Arthur, you're home. You're with me."

He whispers back against her cheek. _"I'm home. I'm with you." _

"I have something I need to tell you. Something so-

He trails fingers into her hair. He has often told her they are the most tempting locks ever. They tease his skin mercilessly until he has no choice but to wrap his hands into. "Can it wait? I need a bath my wife."

"Elyan said you did not come back. That you and-

"I told him to say that." He interrupts smoothly. "I wanted to surprise you. Imagine _my_ surprise when I wander into our bedroom and my dear beautiful wife is _obviously_ thinking of me." He points to the swell of her breasts, the red in her cheeks and the hands that had been lingering intimately on her body before he entered.

She blushes before hitting at his chest.

"Ah." He lets out with complaint.

But she is just as complaining. "You made me think you were going to stay away. You made me-and the storm out there. So fierce. No one has been able to travel. _No_ one."

He grabs gently at her hands, lifts each to his lips for soft wet kisses. "I am the King of Camelot, Guinevere, the grandest kingdom in the land. Did you honestly think a little storm would keep me away, or some disagreement between kings, which by the way we worked out. That Christmas spirit you know. And…it helps when you have a friend who has a bit of magical ability."

She stares. Arthur laughs and points her to the window, pointing _out_ it more directly. "Those magical beasts. Knew they would come in handy for something."

She opens her mouth wide at what is resting on the ground right below their window. "Oh gracious, is that Kilgharrah? Merlin's dragon?"

He rolls his eyes. "Oh yes. Merlin's friend. Who kept complaining the _whole_ way as Gwaine held onto one horn, Elyan held onto the tail end, Lancelot near the front leg, Leon another horn, Perceval of course on top of the head, and I solidly on the back, that he does not like being used as a _horse_."

She shakes her head with wonder. Arthur wasn't exactly all that happy the first time he found out about Merlin's magic, but a year and a half of knowledge has considerably tempered his feelings.

"Merlin knew this then too?"

"Of course he did. He's the one who sent him. He's the Dragonlord after all. When he's not being a wimp of a servant."

"Oh now stop." She presses at his chest.

He licks around her ear, a dragon fire's tongue of his own escaping his yearning mouth. "Oh, I need to let you go. I need that bath. I'm as dirty as a pig in a sty and I won't have you getting soiled because of me."

She smiles, kissing tenderly at his lips, not really caring much of the dirt, but knowing he can be such a spoilt sort at times. "Then let me prep it for you. Remember what my old position was? I'm quite good at preparing baths."

He sighs rapturously. "Oh really, tis true. And how, my dear Guinevere, are you at _giving_ them?"

She leaves the hold of his hands around her waist as he grumbles her departure.

"You'll just have to find out won't you?"

**V**

Minutes later, into the first hour past Christmas's day, past the midnight clear, he is sighing happily as she fondles his back with a warm wet sponge.

"Oh that feels divine Guinevere. Only one thing would make it better."

"And what is that?" She asks, turning her body to wring the sponge out some into a bucket.

"For you to _join_ me." He utters, grasping tightly around her waist as she is turned.

"Arthur!" She lets out.

He laughs before dropping her into the tub, into the water, right atop him, shaking it up a bit, making the water slap at the sides at first, before it calms.

She stares at him, shocked, complaining. "My goodness, what is Elenore going to say? Every time I give her my launderings this nightgown is soaking wet!"

It's true. He's many a time found a way to get it like that when he is bathing and she is—tending.

"She's a grown woman. She'll soon enough figure it out if she hasn't already."

Guinevere rolls her eyes, but allows his kiss. Gives it back.

"Of course we could remedy it even more by just stripping it all away. Then it wouldn't get any wetter."

She turns back to him with amusement. "Oh you're a fine solver of dilemmas."

"Aren't I?" He echoes her amusement.

Soon though the humor is gone. His hands pull at the evening gown. Pull up and out. She feels him bring it away from her body that he has often called _'luscious'_. There is just one last bit of material on her body, in the most intimate place. He goes down into the water. Reaches between her thighs, giving each a kiss before—

"Oh Arthur." She moans. And she is naked as he.

All of it is gone. They are shed of barrier. "Now you tended to me. Let _me_ tend to you." He whispers.

He is intimate with the sponge. He scrubs, rubs, presses at crevices only he is allowed to wander. He brings her to lie back against the tub's edge as his mouth becomes the sponge. She lifts her arms, her hands, her fingers to find his cheeks. Holds at him as he travels her. She has wanted this. Wanted him. Marriage has been only new, short so far. They have too many months away sometimes. She just wants-

"_I want it too."_ He echoes into her ear. Magically sensing her thoughts. A sorcerer of erotic knowing. "I want all of you always. And when I'm away, all I can think of, all I can see—

"I love you Arthur." She kisses at his wet shoulder, presses at his hard chest.

"I love you Guinevere." He returns, finding the form of her legs. Lifting at them. Widening them. She clings to his back. Scrapes at it so strongly because now this moment. Now he-

He thrusts.

She moans.

"_Oh" _

The water is hot against their heated flesh. It waves them into completion. Her head falls back. Foreplay has been so short.

So unnecessary, for the bath has prepped it all. She looks up into his eyes, feels him so hard and inside. She cries tears of joy and pain and fascination. He whispers to her things he dare not tell anyone else. Dare not care to. The wetness of their intimacy mingles with the wetness of the bath. A final shudder. A desperate hold. Breaths so pushed to the brink.

And the bath water shockingly waves, in and out of the tub. In and out they have found each other. _Inside. Outside._ The water. Their love. Their desire.

Her eyes close. She presses her forehead against his shoulder. He holds her, just as moved. Every time.

She knew it the first time he kissed her. This man is her life.

She is sure he feels the same in return as he protects her now, murmurs soft mutterings against her sweating skin. Holds her forever.

It is minutes past before they break away. She pushes him back. He leans against the tub's edge bringing her between his legs, to lie back against his chest.

"Merry Christmas." He whispers.

She doesn't care it is hours past. He came upon the midnight clear. That is all that matters. And this.

"You said you had something to tell me. Care to tell me now?"

She reaches for his hand. She lowers it into the water, past the curves of her breasts, where his fingers linger for a second, tease at a puckering nipple. She shakes her head. He laughs—at first. He thinks she is going to move it to that intimate spot between her legs, but she rests his hand higher instead, over her stomach.

"Next Christmas, you'll have to make sure you are home on time again. I fear he or she could end up being as impatient as you are sometimes. Inherit that hindrance from their father, you know."

He lowers the back of his head to the tub's edge, stunned. Turns and stares. "Are you certain? Are you saying-

She laughs softly. "I'm certain-and yes I'm saying."

He can say nothing. Except. "Oh my-should we not have-was it too soon? How long has it been?"

She titters now, fully amused. "No. It was fine. I've known for a while, just a bit after you left."

He is excited. She can see it in his widened eyes. Hear it in his stuttering voice. Feel it in his motionless body. "A ch-child?"

"Yes Arthur. _Our_ child. Merry Christmas."

It came upon the midnight clear. It was midnight she woke up one night and realized something different. The next day and two it was confirmed. It was near midnight he came home this night.

She feels the rapture of his kisses. They love each other again, only this time, ever so gently. He is full of wonder.

She is full of warmth.

And life.

Thank you for reading. Feeback is adored.

Javabreeze's Request: Something with a Winter/Christmas theme featuring Arthur and Gwen and/or Camelot getting snowed in.


End file.
